Haven't you got any Fanta?

.... and DangerMouse it is indeed. Always just started out with a little glass of red (for the antioxidants of course) and things just tended to escalate from there really. Mendoza - Argentina's premier wine region and a brilliant place for two scruffy scallywags to skip around the vineyards enjoying some of the finest wine this uneducated palate has ever sipped.

Our appreciation of Mendoza's greatest export began in typical classy fashion at a winebar called 'The Vines'. Me with my ever-present flipflops and holey yellow cotton shorts (the previous night's pyjamas no less) , and Woody, looking her usual ravishing self, but with an enormous ballpoint pen tattoo on her arm reading "No one on the corner has a swagger like me". And on the other hand of course there was the obligatory crudely drawn penis with the word 'GAY' written underneath. Just the sort of clientele that The Vines has been waiting for. Appearances aside, we were warmly welcomed into the winebar and presented with a menu, squinting through half shut eyes in preparation for the astronomical prices we expected. But nay, 'twas most reasonable and we sprung for a flight menu - five tasters of different Mendocinian wines. And delicious they all were - Woody favoured a juicy white despite her intolerance to it at home, me with a smoky red. Truth be told if I were ever to taste it again I probably wouldn't even recognise it, and the only reason I know it was smoky is because we had little notes so I knew what to look for. Still, it was delicious at the time and no doubt would be again, even if I didn't know it was the same one.

As we sat and giggled at how out of place we felt and thinking of different things we could say to the waiter - "Mate, have you got any Fanta?", "Can you top that up with Coke?", "Can I have some pizza flavoured Saladix?" (a hilariously named Argentinian cracker, most delicious in pizza flavour.) Woody carefully jotted down her taster's notes - a picture of a butterfly next to her favourite, and a loveheart next to the second favourite. We may possibly have been a bit drunk by the time we left because we were enthusiastically engaging the waiter in discussion of harvesting conditions, grape variety and soil composition, the details of which we'd completely forgotten on the doorstep. I also broke my flip flops on the way out the door. Damn you, flipflops. I love you, but I hate you.

Surprisingly, the waiter invited us back for a winetasting the next night. He said that there would be nice cheeses and bread, which was enough to sway us. We were on for it, so after a day strolling around Mendoza's many parks and plazas we headed back to The Vines for the tasting - offsetting the cost by not having any tea. The perfect setup for a night of drinking alcohol. As the winemaker described his six different wines - "You can taste the minerality, it's a stony..." me and Woody covertly stuffed our faces with some lovely herby cheese and soft bread. And that was tea... I'm not sure where I stand on the whole wine culture (drooling against a wall somewhere probably). I like the culture and I like the wine, but I don't know if it really needs analysing and complicating like that. Or at any rate I don't need that. Tastes good/tastes bad is about as far as I need to go, simpleton that I am. Words like 'astringent' just leave me cold. Mmm, astringent....

Morning hangovers are staved off with Fanta. i think I owe it to Fanta to say a little bit about Fanta. For the longest time I've craved Irn Bru, but in its absence I've sought comfort in the arms of another - Fanta. I think it's the most addictive drink I've ever tasted. It's cheeky, it's unassuming, it's refreshing. Fanta is my friend. They probably put crack in it, and more's the better for the taste. It's almost impossible not to drink it, the fizzy little minx. Irn Bru, you've got your work cut out son...
Back to the story - we hired a couple of bikes in a wee town called Maipu (yeah, like My Poo). What does Maipu smell like? Smells like wineries, my friend. We wobbled and swerved our way from winery to winery, doing little tasters, stopping once to have a wine-based picnic at the roadside, and generally absorb the great relaxed ambience that wine regions tend to have. There is a real pride and respect for wine in Mendoza - it's something that the people are very passionate about, and based on our time there they've every reason to be.

The Ridge of Zonda. Sounds like a geographical feature of some planet in Star Trek, looks like the perfect place for scores of American Indians to come screaming down on the unsuspecting village below. Me and Woody set out to walk the eight miles along the ridge in dehydrating conditions. Scrambling over jagged precipice and down narrow path we managed to get ourselves semi-lost, and all that stood between us and a cold drink was a semi-dangerous descent down a valley wall. This wall was about thirty feet high, with about four feet of incline but plenty of footholds. I'm sure that as time passes I'll exaggerate, and the wall will get higher and higher with less and less of an incline but you can trust those figures for now. Slowly but surely we negotiated a path down and followed the dry river bed to the bus stop, victory..... and Fanta. We managed to hitch a lift back to town with a nice Argentinian couple, Juan Jose and Celeste. They seemed happy enough to have us along for the ride (again, the Scottish card working nicely) as we explained haggis and the delicate relationship between Rangers and Celtic to them. Zonda is not too far away from San Juan which has been our base for the last few days. Kind of like a lo-fi Mendoza: just as leafy, equally as pleasant but much quiter and less winey.

Yesterday we returned to Zonda to float down the river in a tunnel which goes a few kilometres under the city and out the other side. Our hostel owner took us there for nothing: "I can't charge because it's not legal. Well, not illegal but not legal...you know?" We didn't really know, but satisfied that it was a sufficient enough grey area we headed out. The river is a kind of wild water rapids ride in the pitch black. We jumped off a water pipe and into the flowing water as we shot under the city. For eight minutes we drifted, unable to see in front of our face, just hear the whoops and yelps from the people echoing behind us. Exit procedure was taken care of by a few local boys with a bicycle tyre on a rope, who pulled us up the canal walls immediately wanting to know where we were from. They threw themselves off the bridges and walls with reckless abandon - huge arcing dives, half spins and flips (all to impress the bikini clad chicas, no doubt). More underground action this morning as we visited a cave network where they make champagne, all in all a daylight-free success.

As the trip is about to change shape and we leave one continent for another, it seems right to do a little numerical sum-up. After all, who doesn't love......statistics? Scores on the doors for the half are as follows:

Days: 183
Countries: 10 (debate still continuing over the validity of Peru and Chile)
Hostels: 58
Bus hours: 411 (approximately 17 days end to end)
Photos taken: 5000+
Mosquito bites: 300+
Flip flops destroyed: 7

At present we're due to leave San Juan for buenos Aires on our final Latin American nightbus. This chapter of the globe trotting adventure is due to close. indeed, it marks an agreeably symmettrical halfway point for the journey. I can safely say that if we were flying home tomorrow I'd be fine with it. So far we've had an incredible time, unforgettable experiences of sheer beauty and fun. I'm just happy that we're lucky and blessed enough to be able to continue on and add to those experiences as we go...

Thanks for everything, South America - you've been breathtaking.

Tomorrow we fly.... next stop New Zealand. Word.